Sweetrolls and Sweet Poisons
by Emiliya Wolfe
Summary: Antonin Dolohov decides to venture into Skyrim, to find a more challenging land. Unfortunately for him, the guards catch him stealing a chicken and he finds himself chased across the land, right into the arms of a certain dark guild.


**Duelling Club - Holly Wand**

 **(dialogue) "Am I amusing you, name?", (character) Antonin Dolohov, (item) cauldron, (AU) fugitive, (word) complete.**

 **Your Sweetroll Is In Another Castle - Skyrim**

 **(word) voice, (crossover) Skyrim, (item) sweetroll**

* * *

Antonin Dolohov wandered into Markath, tired and hungry. He had been set upon by the guards as he neared the city, all because he had deigned to kill a small chicken for survival. How was he supposed to know it had belonged to someone, out in the open as it was?

In the end, he had been forced to abandon his pack to outrun the guards, and so the whole ordeal had been for nothing. In fact, he was worse off than he had started. He was left only with the knives strapped to his back and boot, the crushed herbs in his belt, and his bedroll, firmly rolled up beneath his hood.

He was thankful to have donned the thickest cloak the Death Eaters - his previous guild in Hammerfell - could provide. That, and the well-oiled leather boots his friend Rabastan had gifted him with as he had set out were the only protection he had for the cold of Skyrim. And still, they were not enough.

Antonin's nose was cold and his fingers blue, and as he picked his way through the town, he realised that his gold was not in the pouch at his belt, but leagues away with the rest of his pack.

He sighed. _As if the day could get any worse._

A movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, and he quickly tugged at his hood as if to ward himself from the cold. The guards here had not yet caught wind of his felony, but it would not be long before his face was pasted on the wanted boards.

 _And all for a piece of chicken_ , he thought. Skyrim was indeed a stranger land than he had realised.

He took another peek behind him and recognised the guard that he thought he had given the slip, conferring with another posted at the gate.

 _Damn,_ he thought. _I've wasted too much time here already. What would the old guildmaster say if he saw me now?_

He knew what Tom Riddle would have said. He would have laughed and said that Antonin deserved a spell in the stocks, if he was willing to get caught so easily.

Casually walking behind the nearest house, Antonin was relieved to find it locked. That meant that there would be no pesky owner to bother him whilst he decided on a plan. He wasted no time in selecting a suitable lock pick from one of his pouches, leaning down to look at the keyhole as he did so.

These things took a careful eye and deft fingers. If he tried to rush, then the guards would surely find him before he managed to break in. After a few minutes of careful tinkering, he heard a click. Sending a quick prayer to whatever Northern gods would listen, he tried the handle...

… and the door swung open with ease.

Celebrating his success, Antonin quietly shut the door behind him, before turning to examine his surroundings. The house was little more than a shack, with a door leading off into what he supposed was a bedroom. But it was warm and a fire was lit, and that was all that Antonin needed for now.

As he dragged one of the three chairs near the fireplace, he noticed the cauldron of boiling water sitting atop the flames. Eagerly, he reached for the dining table for a mug, and saw that there was some food left over, probably from dinner. Pears, apples, a few nuts and… was that a sweetroll? Eagerly he took it up, revelling in the fluffy texture as he bit through the soft bread.

 _Much better than a mouldy old chicken,_ he thought to himself as he warmed his toes by the fire. He could feel the leather softening already.

An hour later, he had eaten his fill of the food at the table, and had even found some venison that he was able to cut into strips and boil for later. They would come in handy if hunger struck again. He was also able to salvage most of the herbs in his pouches and stewed them in a bowl with a little water, crushing them with the hilt of a broken knife into a makeshift poison. It wouldn't be as potent as his usual brand, but one look at the dark purple paste told him that it would get the job done, sooner or later.

Just as he was lathering his favourite throwing knife with the liquid, he heard someone fumbling at the entrance, trying to twist the key in an already unlocked door. Antonin immediately gathered up his weapons and hid them under a pile of firewood. There wasn't time to keep all of them.

He then crept to stand behind the door, purple droplets sliding down the blade of his knife. He grasped the hilt a little tighter. He was lucky that this particular brand was most potent when moist. Usually, it took a few minutes to soften into the bloodstream, but if he aimed properly, the owner of the house wouldn't pose a threat.

The door creaked open, and luckily for Antonin, the owner was slight of build. The door swung shut again.

'Hello?' the man called, his eyes landing on the disturbed food at the table. 'Greta, did you let yourself in again? How many times-'

He was cut off by his own gasp as Antonin's knife embedded itself in his spine. The killer sprang swiftly after his weapon, catching the poor homeowner before he hit the ground. It wouldn't do to make a mess of things.

Antonin gasped a little as he struggled to throw the man into the basement, but managed it anyway. Rabastan would be proud. He would also have laughed at Antonin for forgetting to lock the door behind him, which would have saved him a murder.

 _I'm going to need to find a different town,_ Antonin thought in dismay. But for now, he could go no further. There looked to be a serviceable bed in the other room, there was plenty of bread and fruit left to eat. Why look a gift horse in the mouth?

He gathered his knives, slotting them into place. Two on his back, a row of throwing knives in sheaths across his chest, one in his boot and two longer daggers at his belt. Then he carefully manoevered himself onto the bed, taking care not to stab himself as he lay down. It wouldn't do to start the next day bruised and battered, but he also wasn't taking any chances. He wanted to be ready to leave at a moment's notice.

The moment his head touched the pillow, he fell into a dreamless sleep, eager for the start of a new day.

* * *

When Antonin next awoke, he was bleary-eyed. It didn't feel like he had a good night's sleep, it felt as though he had been clocked on the back of his head. Reaching around, he felt a bruise forming.

That was when he realised he was no longer atop furs in a small room, but lying in the middle of a shack. A woman was lounging on a shelf above him - a very attractive woman, he might add - dressed in black cloth that clung to her body, but also allowed it to merge into the shadows. Something told Antonin that this was the kind of person he could test his skills against.

Noticing him raising his head, she jumped down, lithe as a cat.

'Sleep well?' she purred

Antonin didn't give her the satisfaction of a response, instead jumping to his feet and reaching for a knife. Except he didn't have a knife. He didn't have any of them. Even though he was still fully dressed, he suddenly felt naked.

The woman laughed, her hood falling back to reveal dark red hair.

'I see that you're not a talker,' she said, circling him. He backed against the wall, not wanting to twist around to keep her in his view. 'Very well, there's no need for that. You might be wondering where your weapons are. Well, I couldn't let you attempt to leave before I had discussed terms with you. Your knives would just have got in the way.'

'What terms?' Antonin asked in a low voice, unsure as whether he should be encouraging this dangerous woman. He had noticed hidden sheaths upon her person as well. 'Why would I trust you?'

'An excellent point.' The woman cocked her head, pouting a little. 'My name is Alecto. It seems that you have stolen something from me, from my… family, shall we say?'

Antonin's eyes flickered leftward as he remembered the man in his basement. But Alecto hadn't spoken of killing, simply of stealing. A sudden thought rose to the forefront of his mind.

'What is it with you people and your bloody chickens?' he burst out suddenly. 'I know of no god that worships them so.'

This made Alecto pause. Antonin could see the genuine confusion written across her face, before comprehension dawned and she started laughing until tears came out of her eyes. As she hunched over to catch her breath, Antonin dashed for the exit, only to find that the door was locked. His shoulders sagging in defeat, he turned back to face Alecto who was completely serious once more. A muscle twitched in her jaw.

'Clever ploy,' she said, but her voice purred no longer. Instead it was harsh, angry that she had been duped. 'But what you stole from us was my kill. Ondulin was destined to die at the hand of the Dark Brotherhood and you have broken the Black Sacrament before even knowing what it is. Now, you must pay in kind. A life for a life.'

Antonin took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders. He might be dizzy from the blow to his head, he might not have his weapons, but he definitely wasn't going to die without a fuss. Alecto must have read something in his eyes, because she laughed again, only this time it was cruel, mocking.

'You misunderstand me, my dear man,' she said, gesturing behind her to three bodies tied to chairs. Antonin hadn't even seen them, too concentrated on finding a way out of the shed. 'One of these must die in Ondulin's place. You see, there's a contract on one of them and they must not be allowed to leave this place alive. I leave it to you to decide which. When, and only when, your task is complete, I will give you the key and your weapons, and you will be safe to go on your merry way.'

With that, she handed him one of his daggers, most likely meant to be a gesture of goodwill, and returned to her position atop the shelf.

 _Simple enough_ , Antonin thought. _But I'm not leaving anything to chance._

He walked up to each of the three victims and sliced their throats. Quick, clean and effective. All died within the space of ten seconds. None had the chance to make a sound. He wiped his blade upon the last victim's shirt before slotting it back into its rightful place. He felt better already. Still, he was angry at being used like a puppet.

'There?' he turned back to Alecto, gesturing towards the corpses. 'Am I amusing you, Alecto? Am I done paying for my so-called thievery.'

When he had finished, he thought he detected a hint of admiration in the woman's eyes.

'Very impressive,' she said, jumping down and handing him two keys. She motioned to a small, battered chest, tucked into a crevice in the wall. 'There are your weapons. You are free to go.' Antonin turned, all but running to the chest. 'But wait,' she added, raising her voice. 'If you ever find yourself in need for an employer, the Dark Brotherhood could use one of your… talents. And I assure you, most of our contracts are more entertaining than this one. Once you are one of us, then there will be no need to… amuse me... unless you wish otherwise.' The corner of her lip curled into a perfect red smirk.

Antonin gave her a feral grin of his own. Perhaps he was right to have come to Skyrim after all.


End file.
